


Sky Shows Bruises

by scalphunter



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Past Child Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-09
Updated: 2015-07-09
Packaged: 2018-04-08 13:08:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4306293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scalphunter/pseuds/scalphunter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Something akin to dread rolls over him and that memory, that voice is not his.</p><p>The weather worsens, their bond grows, Erik doesn't understand Charles' reactions until he does.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sky Shows Bruises

**Author's Note:**

> For a friend on twitter :)
> 
> Do not own either of these two, obviously, please enjoy.
> 
> Prompts: thunder, kiss, imagination

The off white plastic blinds illumine the room in horizontal bars as moonlight streams inside. Outside, it is still, basic cars lined up neatly in their parking spaces beside the motel railings. An orange neon “VACANCY” sign glows off to the right above a Ford Galaxie, its titanium rims sing like a soft lullaby. The entire scene Erik is beginning to associate with the broad planeness of America.

Another stop on the map (Charles marking lines and dots with blue pen he absently taps and licks if it doesn’t work), another mutant kindly but assuredly turning them down, and beer that is horrendous. Erik turns his back to the window – his skin feels cold somehow. Perhaps it is the two inch thick glass which separates him from the world.

They are passing through cheap motels like the equally cheap coffee Erik had been sourly tempted to spit back out, much to Charles’ amused snort at one service station. The CIA hadn’t been particularly keen on much funding to begin with and Charles had subbed his own in some restaurants and bars. Erik is not under the illusion he has any affinity with the weather or elements in that respect, although the possibility of a mutant that could is something he must discuss with Charles –

‘Wine?’ Charles asks, tilting the bottle in a way which displays his upbringing. Erik twists his mouth.

‘Please. Wouldn’t want you drinking all by yourself’ he says, teasing. Charles is a lush when he drinks more than three glasses of wine. Especially a Merlot. Erik blinks.

-he does believe there is soon to be a shift in the weather.

 

He’s right. The rain hits, heavy and sticky, late morning and Charles glances disdainfully outside from his seat at the breakfast table. He had been awake reading, eyelids steadily closing, until Erik all but tumbled him into his bed. Charles’ that is, not his own. The grey rain darkens the sky even at half-past ten. ‘Charles?’ Erik asks and the man startles a little, staring at Erik and for an awfully discerning moment he looks so much younger than his years. He looks boyish and sad– Then it’s gone. Charles’ expression shutters and rage flares through Erik because the man is so insufferable with his honesty and sharing and togetherness and pushing, when he doesn’t include himself in any of that. He doesn’t know quite what Charles’ issue was and if he won’t tell then Erik can’t push it, after all, that would be hypocritical.

Erik focuses his attention on the toast on his plate instead, taking a bite and say nothing.

 

 

The clouds rumble, a warning, but nothing follows yet increasing amounts of downpour. The droplets slide off Erik’s leather jacket, Charles’ dark grey wool blazer isn’t so lucky. Sitting in the passenger seat (‘If we’re in the same car – I’m driving’ Erik had intoned after Charles’ reckless display on the open road), head and shoulders soaked, Charles shivers. Erik turns on the heater with a minor flick of his ability because the idiot has made him soft, reverses the car out of the parking lot, and Charles fiddles with the radio until Ray Charles is playing.

They find Angel, ballsy, independent, glorious Miss Salvadore, and she says yes to them. And Charles is chatting and charming and she doesn’t completely trust him but he promises something safe – in both aspects of her life. They return to the facility, high on success and Angel follows them. He spends even more time with Charles, a fare time with Raven and Hank when the boy isn’t immersed in his experiments.

Erik knows the peace cannot prevail.

 

He’s right. Shaw. He was so close. The attack. Raven, Alex, Hank, Shaun, Darwin. Darwin’s death. Angel gone. Xavier Mansion, Westchester.

“Honestly Charles, I don't know how you survived. Living in such hardship.” he had said, and mocked Charles for living in a home with so many rooms they had to be determined by points of a compass. Erik resents Charles’ heritage, his life, and that he is a snob, a naïve one, who doesn’t understand and still has hope. A small part of his mind informs him he doesn’t entirely despise the man’s foolish idealism. Quite the opposite. And this infuriates him.

 

 

Sean, as it soon becomes apparent, loves drastic weather, Alex has no opinion apart from he would rather be inside, and Raven likes the colour creeping over the sky post rainfall. Charles is elsewhere, in his study, and Erik pushes himself out of his chair to see if he hasn’t fallen asleep at his desk. Once he finds Charles, head cradled in one open palm, he informs him that he is an old man, and the reply is-

‘Raven thinks so too. It must be an English thing’ he says, and it’s almost imperceptible the scratch at his words, to make Erik pause. Charles is lying, for a reason he doesn’t know. Not yet. He thinks back to that time with Charles at breakfast, the rain on an already unsettled morning… ‘Headache, that’s all’ Charles adds, smiling a little.

‘Well come on, that chair is useless, up you get’ Erik says.

‘Pardon?’ Charles says and he sounds so nannyish, Erik clenches his teeth.

‘Remove your person from that chair and go to the couch’ Charles is wary of him, confused, follows his orders, and reseats himself on the aforementioned couch, a hand straying to grasp at one of the cushions. Erik sits beside him and opens up his sprawl.

‘Put your head in my lap’ the words sound harsher than he intends them to be. Charles must read something from him – a desire to help - as he does just so. Erik brings a hand to card his fingers through Charles’ hair.

His mother would do this, all those years ago, when he was restless and could not sleep.

Charles’ eyes slip close after a minute of the repetitive easy motion, his breathing slows after another, and by the fourth the creased frown between his eyebrows has disappeared and he’s asleep.

Erik vaguely registers the sky clearing again.

 

A chess game next to the fire, a tumbler of brandy each, they have another dispute over Gallipoli (which leads them eventually to the premise of world war 2), they’re about to part ways for the night and thunder claps overhead. Through the window the lightning flashes, casts white light over Charles who grips at his drink like he is afraid he’ll drop it. He’s standing, rigid, so far off from his usual confident stature.

‘Charles’ Erik says and he assumes his concern must show, Charles is fidgeting on the spot.

‘Sorry, I’ve got to go. Goodnight, Erik’ he’s pleading, and the space in between them is to wide, Erik needs to cross it, to hold Charles still, make him explain. He doesn’t make it the first step before Charles flees. Erik is left alone.

 

Erik knows the location of Charles’ bedroom, just like he knows all the teenagers’ and he has to pass Charles’ to get to his own. He hovers, the gold door knob turning around a fraction until Erik stops, pulls back, and goes to his own room. Charles is a grown man for God’s sake he doesn’t need checking on that he’s tucked up in bed, Erik tells himself. He efficiently brushes his teeth, strips down, climbs beneath the sheets.

 

Cold night rain batters against the window of his room relentlessly. The water drops are bigger, heavier, like righteous tears. The rumbling and crashing grows louder and it’s horrible, he doesn’t like it so close or so tumultuous, or – _please, I’m sorry, Mummy, help, no_ -

Something akin to dread rolls over him and that memory, that voice is not his.

He’s up, pulling on a dressing gown, and all but rushing to Charles’ room. The door opens with a hard scrape and click and Erik stops as he sees Charles. The man is curled into himself at the top of his bed, back against the dark oak headboard, hands clamped over his ears, head bowed down to his knees. He’s muttering, babbling lowly and the words are wet with his crying. Erik reels when he feels a sudden searing pain, Charles is projecting, and disregarding it in favour for doing that which he should have done in the first place. He’s beside the bed, reaches out for Charles.

‘Charles’ he says, it doesn’t make a difference so he reaches carefully until his hand finds Charles’ right forearm, curling his fingers around it the same way he has done with the handle of a knife. Charles lashes out, immediate and violent, and he Erik hears and hears the horrific protests.

‘Don’t, please, why can’t she hear me? Why. Why’

He is at a loss. He doesn’t know how to help, how to fix. He was created as a means to destroy and hurt, not to repair or help. He pulls at Charles again, praying his proximity – mind or body – might register with him. Charles hands do leave his ears, only to claw at his face, forehead and temple, in a renewed need. The storm rages more outside; its energy close to a discordant orchestra at full pelt. Charles’ sobs feel to Erik like they’re dragged up from his heart, hitting every rib, pushing out of his throat mixing with the rush of hot tears. Erik snatches the wrists and yanks them away from their place as tools of injury, grasping them to keep him in place.

‘Charles Xavier you are brilliant, and strong, and more importantly you’re not alone’ Erik says, and he swipes a thumb over the tender pulse point. Charles freezes.‘You’re a marvelous telepath with control, use it, my friend’ his words are said close to Charles’ ear and despite the fact that mother-nature is screaming outside everything within the walls balances, unstable, shaky and there are only two other times Erik has ever felt this fearful.

‘Erik?’ Charles asks words stifled, hoarse.

‘Yes. What in God’s name was that?’

‘I’m sorry’

‘Do not apologise. Tell me’

‘I cannot’

‘You’re scared of storms? You have astraphobia, is that it?’ Erik says when of course it isn’t.

‘I have a mild form of it. It’s more of an associative problem-‘ Charles huffs an empty laugh, ‘The stimulus paired with the memories, even self-hypnosis won’t shift it and believe me I’ve tried I just can’t-‘ Charles sniffs, eyes darting anywhere in the room but to Erik. Thunder cracks again, softer this time, and the lightning arrives later, further away. ‘After my father died my mother couldn’t bear to look at me. She hated me. She had a son who was growing up to look like the man she had fallen in love with and lost too early’ Charles admits. Erik waits. ‘Then she met him. Kurt Marko. A Nazi sympathiser, which only adds to his long list of attributes’ Charles sneers, ‘He took a particular disliking to me’.

Erik imagines what those words could possibly mean; a man four times the size of a small boy, with a hatred already forming.

‘He hurt me. Regularly. And Cain, who didn’t understand, who just loved his father, did nothing. Just like my mother. I kept Raven away from it all as much as I could – there are episodes I took from her memory,’ Charles glimpses at Erik, ‘And you must understand I wish I never did’

‘You had no choice’ Erik speaks, honest and clear. Charles clearly had not expected this response, turning his body towards Erik, his face still hot and damp, eyes still red.

‘He died in a mental institution across the country. I got the man committed, I ruined his life-‘

‘When he almost ruined yours, Charles, never feel wrong for protecting your family’ Erik’s voice wavers at that word, at the one thing that Shaw took from him all those years ago, at a recollection so painful. This isn’t about him, this is for Charles.

Charles who is trembling.

‘Erik – oh God I’m sorry’ He realises that those thoughts of his must have been louder than usual. He swallows. He looks to the window instead, where outside it’s still blowing enough to rattle the panes, and yet the worst is over.

‘There were times when the weather was bad, he would be worse, the things he did... The sound of the storm covered my pain’ Charles twists his hands into the bedsheets, ‘I have a slight aversion to irrational climate changes such as thunder and lightning. Ask Raven, she will tell you, I used to hide in the kitchens which is oddly enough where I met her. Nevertheless, the added connection made it rather unbearable. I thought the nightmares and the panic attacks had stopped…’ he trails off, shaking his head.

‘You’re astounding’ Erik says simply, after a gap between Charles’ words.

‘Erik, compared to what you-‘

‘No. Be quiet for a moment. From what I gather that man was one of the lowest forms of human, to do that to a child is incomparable. He had no idea who he was treating so badly – institutionalizing him was extremely merciful, Charles’ Erik’s loathing for a man he does not know is bleeding through his words and coating the beginnings as his accent slips.

‘Thank you. I don’t mean for solely that – since that morning in Florida’

‘Don’t be absurd. It’s nothing’

‘It’s isn’t, Erik I know I read everything from you and I wish you to tell me things, and I can be utterly stupid, I withheld-‘

‘Charles, shut your mouth or so help me I will do it for you’ he says sharply, otherwise Charles will continue to talk and Erik doesn’t think he could take it, not now, not after having the man in his head and aloud like an echo. ‘It was not something you were permitted to tell me – like a ridiculous exchange of depression. That isn’t what I want from you. Are you clear on this now?’

Charles nods. ‘Yes, I think so’, he smiles. It’s tentative although his eyes are shining, glimmering with a difference. Dealing with Charles’ preposterous moral crises – what he feels he shall be doing for a good while. ‘What did _I will do it for you_ , mean?’ he asks, an impish quality, so very Charles, it makes Erik smile.

‘See for yourself’ he opts, and Charles taps, making a fair bit of clumsy noise to look, the hand at his temple steadier than earlier. The times Charles has looked inside after receiving permission, he’s tended to make enough harmless racket as so to show precisely what he’s doing. So Erik can feel him there. It’s considerate.

Erik hopes he is more subtle when looking into the minds of their enemies.

‘Oh’ Charles’ small exclamation of surprise matches the wide-eyed expression.

‘Yes. Any objections?’

‘Not at all’ Erik presses his mouth to Charles’ in a soft, chaste kiss. He tastes like peppermint. He tastes like the sky.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you liked it.  
> Kudos/Comment/Requests would be lovely.


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